“How?” She shakes me, leaning into my field of vision. “Think, Jack. Where do we go? Who else would know where to find them?”
“Lyon’s office,” I say, the closet coming into sudden sharp focus. “There’s something in Lyon’s office I need to pick up.”
32
Let Loose by the Devil
FLEUR
Doug wants a lesson, so that’s exactly what I give him. With razor-sharp focus, I summon two roots from the oak. They surge toward his feet, but he rolls to avoid them. While his head’s down, I run. The Guards shout, boots pounding the grass from all sides. A red light flashes to my right. The second I’m within reach of a root, I call it to the surface, ensnaring the Guard. There’s a sickening snap and a brilliant flash as her magic is sucked into the ley lines below us.
A second red light blinks to my left, closing fast. I sling out my arm. The branches of a chestnut whip out as the Guard rushes past it. The Guard screams, and the sky brightens with the flare of her magic.
Another set of boots thunders behind me. My mind grabs a root, and a third flare ignites the park. In the fading glow, I spot the last Guard. He stands in the open clearing ahead, waiting to intercept me. My magic spirals through the earth ahead of me. The ground collapses under his feet, and the sinkhole devours him.
I sprint toward a cluster of trees, slipping behind a wide trunk and pressing my back against the bark. Trying to quiet my ragged breaths, I listen for Doug’s footsteps behind me.
“Fleur!” he roars. “You can’t run from me!” His feet slow, as if he knows he’s close. “There is no escape from this. Not if you want your friends to survive.”
Chill . . . I tip my head against the trunk, eyes squeezed shut against the cold rain that spatters my cheeks. Chill would want me to run if it meant saving Jack and Poppy.
A twig snaps. I reach my mind into the soil, searching for his soles against the wet ground.
“I can smell you,” he says, his voice low enough to send a shiver up my spine.
My thoughts surge into the branches of the sycamore at Doug’s back. With a loud groan, its huge limbs lash around him, dragging him off his feet and slamming him into its trunk. Doug screams at me as the tree forces him to his knees. I swing out from my hiding place, grabbing roots with my mind, coiling them around his wrists and jerking his arms out wide. A vine curls around his head, tipping it back, exposing his throat to me. Another slithers down from the tree, plucking the transmitter from his ear and slinging it into the grass. The red light pulses like a heartbeat between us.
Doug’s eye is wide, the rain carving rivers down his face. “What are you waiting for?” he shouts.
I summon a branch and aim it like a spear at his chest.
His breath hitches. All it would take to end his life is a single command from me.
And if he dies, then what? What happens to Time if that magic is lost? What happens to all of us? The transmitter blinks in the grass. If I send Doug back through the ley lines with the rest of his Guards, how long will he sleep? And what happens to the earth while he does?
My spear shrinks away from him. Doug watches me back away as if he has no idea who I am. I can’t end this alone. I need to think. I need a plan. I need Jack.
“Fleur, don’t do this!” Doug’s voice rises to a shout as I turn and break into a run.
City lights flicker through the trees ahead. I sprint toward them, keeping the wind at my back, no idea which direction I’m heading. I’ll find a pub or a tavern. Someplace with a phone or a computer I can use. Somehow, I’ll get through to Jack.
Doug’s scream becomes muffled and distant. In a faint corner of my mind, I feel him hurl himself against the tree’s roots. I strain to hold on as long as I can, only letting go when I reach the fence at the farthest corner of the park. I’ll be hard to track by scent in the rain. Doug doesn’t have the staff with him—he can’t see where I’m going.
I cross the road at Crooms Hill, orienting myself by the street signs as the rain blows sideways. Sleet pelts my face, and the wind is nearly intolerable. It must be late. Every store window is dark, and I have no money for a cab. I don’t know how long I manage to walk before I spot the orange peaks of a flame ahead.
Teeth chattering, I wander toward it. The smoke billowing from the fire in the barrel smells like burning trash, but I’m drawn to the promise of its warmth.
Other smells reach my nose, and I stop short.
Charred wood . . . dead leaves . . . damp hay.
Autumn.
I take a cautious step backward . . . right into him.
The Autumn’s hand snakes around my throat, his gloved fingers digging in. I can’t get any air. I grasp out for a root, but there’s pavement below me and brick walls tower above me on either side of the street.
“Nasty night for a stroll, Spring.” I choke, seeing stars as he pushes aside my hair. “Where’s your transmitter, girl? Or are you one of those free-range Seasons we’ve all been hearing about?”
He shouldn’t be here. Not in this region. Not at this time of year.
He must be a rogue. And if he was on the run because he was loyal to Michael, that doesn’t bode well for me.
I rake my heel down the Autumn’s shin, cutting off his scream when I throw my elbow into his ribs. I scramble out of his grip, but he catches me by the hair and holds me over the edge of the barrel, my face dangerously close to the fire. “I recognize you. You’re the Spring who started the rebellion. Guess you haven’t heard the news. Gaia is gone. No more natural law. No more boundaries. No more regions or territories. Nothing to keep us from taking what we want.” The flame whooshes up with a show of sparks.
“I don’t want your magic or your territory.” My eyes water and I choke on a lungful of smoke. “Let me go.” I reach back for his hand where it’s buried in my hair. This cold weather favors him, but if I can just touch him . . .
The Autumn laughs. “You’re forgetting who holds the power here.”
“I hold the power. Apparently, you’ve both forgotten.” Doug’s cold, rasping voice comes from somewhere behind us. The Autumn goes still, his grip firm as I cough. “Let the Spring go, and maybe I’ll overlook it.”
The Autumn draws in a breath, scenting the air. “Who the hell are you?” he snaps over his shoulder.
“I’m your new Chronos.”
“What if I don’t believe you?”
“Then I strongly suggest you turn around.”
The Autumn jerks me upright and swings me around. I blink away smoke and see Doug standing in the mouth of the alley, his hands jammed into his pockets and his wet hair dripping in his eye. The facets catch the flames, reflecting them back at us.
The Autumn drops me where I stand, sidestepping away from me. “I’m sorry, Chronos. I didn’t realize. Take her. She’s—”
I reach for the Autumn, grabbing him by the throat and maneuvering him between me and Doug. The second my bare hands make contact with his neck, his power surges through me, seeking balance with mine.
“Stay away!” I warn Doug as I drag the Autumn backward, stalling for time, starved for strength. The power I took from Doug in the park is already exhausted after fighting and running in the cold. “You stay away from me.”
Doug saunters closer, his hands shuffling in his pockets, until he’s standing right in front of us.
“If you’re going to barter with a life, Fleur, you’d better be sure that life is worth something.” The Autumn gasps as Doug plunges a knife into his gut. His body sags, a sudden dead weight in my arms as the prickling pulse of his power fades.
The Autumn drops to the pavement. Doug watches me through the rising sparks of the dying Season’s magic, their glow reflected in the hard surface of his eye. When the last spark is in the wind, all that remains is a pile of ash.
The fire in the barrel crackles in the silence.
“I won’t teach you,” I say, taking a step back from him. “Kill me if you want. I’m not going back with you
.”
His jaw rocks back and forth as if he’s actually considering it. After a moment, he tosses me his phone. I catch it against my chest, the screen coming to life when it falls into my wet hands. A video plays. The image is grainy, a five-second loop of monochromatic snow. But there’s no mistaking who I’m seeing, or where they are.
My knees splash into an ash-gray puddle as I watch Poppy and Marie hurry down a hall. Amber and Julio follow them with Jack between their arms. His feet drag along the floor tiles. A dark stain spreads down his sleeve. They’re moving fast, past familiar doorways and signs. A dark-haired girl with a pixie cut follows behind them, her face cast in shadows, as they slip off the screen.
I’m too late. They’re already here.
I watch the recording loop. Watch them drag Jack’s limp body over and over again. He’s down there, hurt. They’re all down there. And I’m up here. And the only way to get back to them is through Doug.
33
Till the Tree Could Bear No More
DOUG
The Spring and I have been at this for hours, and if it weren’t for the pouring rain, I’d burn every tree in Greenwich Park to the ground.
“Show me again!” Rain pours down the neck of my coat. The cold wind sinks in its teeth. No matter how many times I try to grab hold of the branch with my mind and make it do something useful, it won’t answer to me.
“There’s no point!” Her cheeks are flushed and her teeth won’t stop chattering. “I told you already, it’s not something you do. It’s something you feel!” All I feel is utter exhaustion and a persistent nagging pain that seems to worsen the more I attempt to use the very magic I’m expecting her to teach me. It’s as infuriating as my ability to stop time. I can occupy space, but I can’t affect anything.
“I was close last time. I was inside the damn tree, and I felt myself pushing!”
“You only felt yourself, Doug.”
“The branch moved. You saw it! All I need to do is learn how to—”
“This isn’t working! I want to go inside.”
I grab her by the front of her jacket. “I said, show me!”
“I’m tired.” Her voice breaks, and she wavers on her feet. “It’s too cold out here. I can’t . . .” She teeters, sways. Her eyes roll back into her head and her body falls sideways, collapsing into the muddy grass.
I kneel beside her, swearing under my breath. Her skin’s cold to the touch, her slack eyelids unresponsive when I slap her cheek. I could summon my Winter magic and try to bring her around, but last time I gave her an ounce of power, she took down all four of my Guards and handed my ass to me. It’s nearly three in the morning. We’re both soaked to the bone, frozen and hungry and raw, and this is getting me nowhere. I slide an arm under her knee and haul her against me.
Her head swings loose on her neck, rain pooling in the dip between her collarbones and trailing down the neck of her shirt. Her eyes roll under her lids, flickers of her memories appearing to me in distracting flashes through the narrow slits as I stumble through the park gate. Thunder rumbles in the distance. My soaked boots tread through puddles in the street. By the time we make it back to the townhouse, Fleur’s shivering violently.
I kick the front door. A hand peels back the curtain over the sidelight. The face of the same nervous Guard from before appears through the glass. As soon as the door cracks open, I shoulder through it. Fleur’s lips are blue in the dim light of the foyer, and I curse myself for missing the signs. She’s not Gaia. Not a Guard or a god. She’s a Spring, and this weather isn’t warm enough to sustain her.
The Guard locks the door and rushes after us toward the stairs to the cellar. “Is everything okay, Chronos? Can I do something?”
“Stay out of my way.” I shift Fleur upright and sling her over my shoulder. Her dead weight swings against my back as I descend the narrow stairs and pound the button for the elevator. The doors slide open and I heft her inside. Rainwater drips from her hair, spattering the floor, as we make the long trip down.
The Guards in the Crux back away as I emerge from the elevator with Fleur on my shoulder.
“Get Commander Lixue on the phone,” I snap as they part for me. “I want fresh towels, extra blankets, and a change of clothes delivered to my suite. And a meal cart with something hot to drink.”
“Yes, Chronos.” They lower their heads as I brush by. I’ve grown used to it, their aversion to my eye, as if they’re unsure how much I can see in theirs and they’re not willing to take any chances. If I thought they were bowing their heads out of respect for my position, maybe I’d be happier about it. But most of them are doing it because they’re hiding something and terrified of the consequences. The more of my own people I’m surrounded by, the fewer of them I trust. Loyalty motivated by fear is easily won, but those bonds are just as easily broken. Any one of them would turn on me to save their own skin. At least Fleur has the guts to fight me.
One arm around her knees, I use the other to unlock the door with my key card and swing it open. Plaster dust and broken glass still litter the carpets in my suite. It crunches under my boots as I carry Fleur into the bathroom and crank the shower as hot as it will go.
She slides from my shoulder like a limp rag, refusing to be held upright. Needles of hot water seep through my clothes as I brace her against the shower wall and she slumps to the floor. Her skin’s rippled with goose bumps, and a pink flush creeps over her neck.
I squat beside her, tapping her cheek. “Fleur, wake up.” Her heavy lids pry open, her dark eyes slow to focus on me.
I wait for her to push me away. To lash out.
“I’m hungry,” she rasps.
I get to my feet and stand out of the spray. “I’ve already ordered food.”
Fleur watches me, hands braced on the shower basin beside her, as I back out of the shower. When I’m sure she’s not going to drown, I grab a towel from a stack on the counter, mopping my face as I leave her alone in the bathroom. I shut the bedroom doors behind me, trailing water over the carpet as I head to the living room. There’s a meal cart in the middle of the room and a pile of extra blankets and fresh clothes stacked on the arm of the couch.
As I peel off my jacket, something falls to the carpet—a broken twig with four pathetic buds that must have gotten stuck inside my clothes.
I rub my chest, twirling the torn stem, thinking back to the things Fleur said about feeling pain.
My thoughts reach out toward the plant, bouncing off its membrane when I push too hard too fast. I try again, a careful, curious brush of my thoughts this time, and I’m rewarded with a sharp sting. I breathe through it, sliding deeper inside the plant’s skin, conforming to its shape. I imagine my lungs expanding. Imagine my fists uncurling. The buds shiver, then slowly open, their leaves unfurling right in front of me.
The bedroom doors snap open. Fleur stands in the gap between them, her hair wrapped in a towel, clutching the collar of a long bathrobe tightly closed. Her eyes dip to the plant, then lift to my face. A flash of fear passes over them.
I jerk my head toward the cart, tossing the branch in the waste bin. She rushes to turn over the silver domes, her hands moving furtively around the edges of the tray as if she’s looking for something. “What did the kitchen send for dinner?” she asks, lifting a plate and brushing her fingers under it.
“If you’re referring to Boreas, he’s dead.” The plate clanks quietly against the tray as it slides from her hand. “You asked me whose blood I was wearing. Now you know.”
She moves away from the cart. Face paling, she takes the pile of Gaia’s clothes in her arms and holds it to her chest. Then she disappears into my bedroom and locks the doors.
34
Heaps of Broken Glass
JACK
The rec rooms in the Winter wing are conspicuously vacant, the training rooms silent, the hallways dark. Usually, Kai leads the way, but since we left the kitchen, she’s trailed behind me, her eyes darting to every doorway we pass as if sh
e expects her sister to be standing in it. Dorm room after dorm room . . . every door is shut. The Observatory feels abandoned, dead inside, eyes closed, fists clenched. But as we move through the halls on silent feet, listening to the murmurs of tense voices through the walls, it feels like we’re being watched, as if every Season and Handler trapped in these halls is holding their collective breath, waiting for something.
The hum of an urgent conversation quiets as Kai passes close to one of the doors. She raises a fist to knock, her mouth parting to call out to whoever’s inside. I reach for her hand to stop her, mouthing the word no.
“Shouldn’t we let them out? They’re trapped.”
“They’re safer if they don’t see us,” I whisper. I move away from the door, towing Kai behind me as the girls inside start banging and calling out to us. There are hundreds of Seasons and Handlers down here, trapped in their rooms. We can’t possibly save them all. As we pass Gabriel’s and Yukio’s old rooms, I have to remind myself they’re gone. In the wind. I could try knocking on a few other doors of Seasons I knew, but anyone who knew me well enough to help me is probably under surveillance. I can’t risk drawing attention to this wing. Not until I’ve found what I came for.
Lyon’s old office is tucked deep in the Winter wing. I never thought much about it before, but in hindsight, its remote location makes sense. Gaia would have wanted to keep Lyon far from Michael’s sight, well off his radar. I only hope the cramped, dusty office—and the orb Lyon was keeping inside it—is off Doug’s radar, too.
Kai stalls in front of every bulletin board we pass, skimming the posted announcements with her flashlight, probably searching for her sister’s name. I maneuver through the halls quickly, sticking to the darker corridors without power, forcing her to keep up. Her shoes splash in puddles left behind by broken pipes, the clack of her bow against her quiver letting me know she’s still behind me.
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